Words That I Can't Find
by Sassassin
Summary: Her life had been average until it wasn't, and there was something to be said about that; mostly it raised a question of "why" rather than "when"—there is something to be written about that. - AU
1. Chapter 1

**Tagging: **Nikita, Owen, Alex, Sean, Jaden, Thom, Michael.  
**Ships: **Nowen/Salex. (for now)  
**Rating: **K. (Might change sometime during the story.)

To those that know me: yep, two multi-chapter stories at the same time. I couldn't help myself, honestly, and writing a Mikita story is _way _long overdue. They're my favorite ship in the history of fabulous ships, and it's been a matter of _if _not _when _I'll be writing something about them.

To those that don't know me (yet): 'ello!

I'm sorry if this story is extra cringe-worthy over how stereotypical and cliche it honestly is. I hope it'll get better and more depth-y as I go on.

Anyways. I'd like to dedicate the first chapter to **Jae**, who gave me fabulous advice: "Follow your heart." (My heart said Mikita.)

* * *

Her life had been average until it wasn't, and there was something to be said about that; mostly it raised a question of "why" rather than "when"—there is something to be _written_ about _that_.

"When?" isn't an easy question to answer, mind you.

Was it when she'd been five years old with dreams bigger than the town she was born in, dreams of being a princess that leads an army into battle against creatures that solely exist in nightmares or of being a world traveler that hungers after beautiful objects that tell of eras long forgotten?

But it was normal for a five-year-old to want big futures and end up experiencing nothing like they could've imagined; after all, which five-year-old would imagine a future wherein their parents no longer lived?

She hadn't expected at five years old, but she'd known it a fact four years later.

So was it when she'd been nine years old then? When she'd been forced to talk about "Ma and Pop" in a past tense that hurt more than any child should have to endure? When there'd been nightmares worse than ever before and a hollow in her chest that never budged, never filled again but, at least, never grew either?

Losing parents at a young age has always been something tragically common, something that happens more often than it should.

That didn't make her extraordinary-just unlucky.

As tragedy-struck as her childhood had been, it hadn't been anything the world hadn't seen yet; tossed around like a rag doll by the system, she had eventually found a new home and there had ended the pitiful eyes and hushed conversations whenever she'd been in the room.

Maybe it was when she'd been sixteen, choosing against her teachers' advice to become a nurse?

Even that wasn't anything rare. While still a criminally limited amount, she'd been together with two dozen other students in her class at one of Vancouver's community colleges.

So then when was it—when she decided to let Owen into her life, or when she had simultaneously the worst and best summer of her life?

Pondering about the when is still easier than the why though. The why's an impossible question to answer.

* * *

The Elliot estate bathed in the afternoon sun of a beautiful July day. The buildings casted long shadows on the lawn; blades rustled in the breeze. Wild flowers ran like veins through the garden with a wonderfully elaborate palette of vibrant colors and through the gaps between the stems looked a group of teenagers lying flat on their stomachs, head resting on top of their arms, waiting for the last guests to arrive.

Soon enough a black SUV drove onto the big strip of road between two tall hedges of trees, the windows open to reveal a blonde man that wore a bright grin beneath his Ray Ban sunglasses and next to him, though mostly invisible to anyone looking in from the other side, a woman that had hair almost as raven as the shades that wrapped around her.

While the teenagers scurried to their feet to run up to the house Meat Loaf's _Paradise by the Dashboard Light _thundered through the car, the sheer volume made their seats vibrate and Nikita was drumming her fingers against her thighs nervously.

The entire ride she'd been trying to get a lid on the anxious tension that tightened her muscles until she was uncomfortable despite how the leather of the seat had formed around her body like God's hand.

The last two Christmases had been spent with Owen's parents coming over, but she'd never had the pleasure of meeting anyone else from the family—yet. As she watched a handful of teenagers hurry up the marble front steps that lead up to high double doors she wondered who all were related to the man by her side.

"_Stop right there, I gotta know right now,_" Owen sang loudly, voice screeching and eyes squeezing together, head bobbing to the drums.

It was the distraction she needed in that moment, and as she scrunched up her nose and laughed the impending family meeting vanished from her mind momentarily. Instead of thinking about it she reached for the water bottle in the glove compartment and used it as her microphone.

"_Before we go any further, do you love me? Will you love me forever?_"

By the time they rounded up in front of the entrance the song had run its length and made place for an equally brilliant 80s chart topper, _Don't You (Forget About Me) _by Simple Minds.

With a sigh she pushed up, leaning into Owen to peck the corner of his mouth before she slipped her legs from underneath her and stretched them to the ground. Her muscles whined with an unpleasant ache, having been tucked under her weight for the entire drive between Vancouver and Quebec.

She moved her gaze up to the waiting crowd in time to catch a flash of brown cascading around a tiny frame and then the weight of the girl and momentum of the sprint knocked her back. Nikita released a shrieked "oomph" as she caught Alex mid-jump.

"I'm so glad to finally meet you!" the girl babbled into her ear as she wound her arms tightly around her, unsteadily swaying on the balls of her feet.

Nikita smiled when they broke apart, catching eager baby blues and a name she'd heard before, _Alex_, and suddenly so many stories made so much more sense as she finally matched "Owen's sister" with this person.

"I'm glad to finally meet you too!"

Alex tangled their hands together to pull her into the house. Nikita was introduced to the entire gang—Sean, Alex' boyfriend, and their two best friends, Jaden and Thom. She greeted Owen's parents warmly, spending a full minute being held by Jane who couldn't stop complaining about how thin she'd gotten.

"Let's go inside and ask if Kitchen can make you something. Alex, be a dear and go get Michael."

Nikita couldn't be precise about how long she'd known Owen, but they'd been best friends since her junior year in high school and had dated him for half of that time—however, she had only once heard of Michael, which was bleak in comparison to the plenty stories she'd been told about Alex, his parents, even his weird cousin Seymour.

She craned her neck to follow with her eyes as Alex ran up the stairs. Then she inched closer to Owen, curling in his side to be closer to his ear and whisper: "Michael's here?"

"I didn't know either," he muttered in response, eyebrow rising slightly.

All she knew was that he was an older _half_-brother and that he hadn't bothered visiting his family since he'd moved away. It had seemed like too much of a sore subject to ever bring up again, so Nikita hadn't.

She had _no _idea what to expect.

They filed into the spacious living room. Leather couches surrounded a Persian rug that seemed fuzzy enough to sleep on, a wall was entirely made out of glass so that everything was doused in bright rays of sunlight. Art hung from the elegant sand brick walls and as Nikita flopped down on one of the couches, she felt some of her fear melt away.

"Are you usually a quiet person?" Alex' friend Jaden asked, a seemingly genuine smile curving up those luscious lips, and Nikita was about to answer when the doors creaked.

In walked the personification of Tall, Dark and Handsome. Hands stuffed in the pockets of an emerald green vest and pursed lips surrounded by a scruffy beard, warmth furled in the pit of her stomach as Nikita looked up and caught muddy green eyes.

Michael.

Wow.


	2. Chapter 2

**Tagging: **Nikita, Owen, Alex, Sean, Jaden, Thom, Michael.  
**Ships: **Nowen/Mikita. Salex.  
**Rating: **K. (Might change sometime during the story.)

I'm glad this story has been as well-received as it is. I cannot thank you guys enough. As I keep struggling with my insecurities over this story, it's nice to hear it is at least enjoyed by you all.

I would've updated yesterday, but Shane West tweeted me **(!)** and rendered me unable to do anything at all for most of the day.

As you'll see, I've made some of these characters _very _ooc. I like to believe that because it's an AU I can, but if it bothers anyone, please do let me know.

* * *

The next morning Nikita was up before the dawn of day. That hadn't been _completely _voluntary, though she'd wanted to get up early to get her morning jog in before the Elliot family decided to do with her whatever it was they decided to do—they were only staying a week, and "cupcake, there is _sooooo much_ to do" (Alex' words).

However, "early" was seven am, maybe even pushing seven thirty, _not _five.

She'd been awoken by the sounds of the house. A hauntingly eerie whistle of wind through the empty hallways and spacious rooms, the creaking of wooden beams that had been supporting the same sloped roof for decades if not centuries, and Nikita had sat up and clung the sheets to her chest, wondering if ever there'd died someone on these grounds and if a spirit could possibly be around to get revenge.

That was as silly a thought as they came, but peering through the darkness, she couldn't say she found anything that comforted her and coaxed those thoughts from her mind.

She slipped out of bed and tiptoed to the bath room. Quietly she went to work getting dressed in formfitting black shorts and a loose tank top, pulled her hair up in a ponytail and brushed her morning breath away.

Morning routines were what gave her the time and space to mull things over. Through the steady, consistent movements she found her mind wandering. The first night in Quebec had been interesting, to say the least.

There'd been Alex who was nothing short of an unadulterated bundle of energy, overwhelming her with questions and affections and touches and random hugs—she'd grown fond of her already, though. Everything she never could've been, she was a breath of fresh air not unlike Owen had been.

There'd been Sean who was decidedly less brainless than he had seemed upon first impression, and especially over dinner she had found herself thoroughly engaged in the conversation they had going on that flickered between subjects like Battlestar Gallactica and Game of Thrones to health care and politics.

But most of all, there'd been Michael. His presence had been memorable most because of how quiet he had been in contrast to the others. Her moment of attraction had faded into more of an appreciation, and she felt justified in thinking she could acknowledge another person's beauty without wanting to act on it; and that had enabled her to be comfortable towards Michael.

However, every one of her attempts at conversations was met with silence. There was no interaction beyond their introduction, and he'd sat in the lounge with them, leaned back against the back of the couch, and hadn't spoken a word.

That hadn't annoyed her as much as it had confused her. She had focused on the others, but she couldn't shake thinking either something was wrong with her, or something was wrong with him.

She untangled her earphones while walking down the hallway. The carpet muffled her steps and she managed to get downstairs to the kitchen without, as far as she knew, waking someone.

"Good morning," came from behind her, and she clamped a hand over her mouth to keep from making any noise as she spun around. There, leaning casually over the counter, was Michael. For the first time she saw his scruffy beard give way for a smile. "Did I scare you?"

She chuckled, trying to laugh away the tension that had jumped into her muscles and bones, and shrugged one shoulder. "A little, yeah. I didn't think anyone else would be awake."

"I'm up at unconventional hours."

Behind him the coffee machine dinged. He poured himself a cup of coffee then cocked an eyebrow at her, lifting up the pot. "Want some?"

"Maybe after my run," she replied politely.

His eyes swept across her body, two long hauls from top to bottom and back. "Explains the outfit."

The conversation fell silent as he sipped his coffee and she stood there locked in his gaze. There was something tantalizing about how they'd just had a normal conversation as opposed to the day before, and she was reluctant for it to end already. Minutes ticked away though and she found it hard to come up with anything that wouldn't be awkward—after all, she'd given it a few tries before and those had been futile.

When the sun rose behind her, casting gentle light into the otherwise glum kitchen, she decided the opportunity to talk was now beyond them.

She nodded to him and then turned to the glass doors, sliding one open to step outside. When she finally dared to look back he was gone, but the pot of coffee hadn't been emptied in the sink and a clean mug stood on the counter.

With a smile she flicked on her mp3 and started on the path she saw curl around the pound ahead of her. Every footfall reverberated through her and inside her mind Michael's voice echoed.

For some reason, it was hard to rid herself of it.

* * *

She ducked back into the house an hour later. Her clothes clung to her frame and beads of sweat rolled down her neck. It had been exactly what she needed though, and the estate had provided her with more beautiful scenery than she'd ever had on a run before.

Inside she was met with peaceful quiet.

She slid into one of the bar stools at the breakfast counter, finally getting that cup of coffee that hadn't strayed from her thoughts, and when she inhaled the scent there was something addictive about it. Only after a few gulps she realized Michael had flavored it with cinnamon.

The beverage had only been lukewarm and it had felt like a hug; inviting.

Michael had become even more of an enigma that morning, and Nikita found herself rendered clueless as to how this man could be cold one moment and hot the next.

* * *

A few hours later, life had picked up like before and a freshly showered Nikita sat at the breakfast table, tugging pieces off her croissant before popping them into her mouth. Amanda, the head of Kitchen as it were, had wanted to make her anything she very well pleased, but she was a person of small pleasures. The idea of scrambled eggs with grilled vegetables was tempting, exceedingly so, but she refused to get used to a luxury she couldn't get used to—didn't _want_ to get used to.

"What's on the program today?" she asked between bites, nudging Alex' elbow.

The girl grinned sleepily, a mischievous glint to her eyes. "You'll see."

Nikita frowned, her fingers stilling around her pastry. "No fair. Can I at least know who's coming?"

Alex tapped a finger to her bottom lip and then nodded. "Sure. Guess that won't harm anyone. It's going to be just you, me, and our boyfriends."

"What about Michael?" It was out before she could stop it. _So he doesn't have to be home alone_, she thought. There was a familiar sense of sympathy for a person in the underdog position, even though she couldn't get her mind wrapped around the biggest mystery of the Elliot family.

"Michael's sleeping. I don't think he'll wake up for another few hours."

"Oh." _Unconventional hours_. "Another time then, maybe."

"Mhm." Alex leveled her a look over the rim of her mug before she sighed, shoving aside her plate to rest her arms on the cold marble, hands reaching out for Nikita's. "I get you're new to this family so you don't know, but you'll eventually learn that Michael really just wants to be left alone. He doesn't _want _to be invited to this kind of stuff. It's a miracle he's even here right now."

Nikita smiled sadly and nodded, though she wasn't too sure if she was ready to back off from him now she'd had a taste of how genuinely fun he could be.

"Not so glum, sugar plum. We're going to have a _great _time!"


	3. Chapter 3

**Tagging: **Nikita, Owen, Alex, Sean, Jaden, Thom, Michael.  
**Ships: **Nowen/Mikita. Salex.  
**Rating: **K. (Might change sometime during the story.)

Sorry it took me so ridiculously long to update this (or anything, really). There's been a lot going on. Now I'm back with this chapter though, holla! :3

* * *

There was a reason Nikita had a stubborn reluctance towards privilege.

She had learned how to keep it under wraps when she started hanging out with Owen, who had never made a secret about the wealth he sat upon like a golden throne, the thousands of dollars that flowed into his bank account _daily_; in high school, that had made him very popular—it had also made him an unlikely person to befriend Nikita. (He had, but that was an entirely different story.)

She had taken but a few days to get into the swing of things around the estate well enough to press away that constant feeling of dislike towards people that had never known hardship growing up.

But at night she lay awake, pondering the idea that she was letting go of her standards and morals to blend in with these people, to grow accustomed to the idea that one day she would be one of them, living on a trust fund provided by a former generation scrounging off of the working class.

She remembered how her parents had been people like that. Working long hours and many days, they still had never gotten a big enough margin to afford any kind of luxury. She never stopped feeling the sting when she thought about how she had worked her ass off to afford college. She had never had much time for a social life beyond Owen who had become flexible to her schedule of free time.

It made her stay bittersweet. Because these people, while rich and privileged, were _wonderful_. There had been rich afternoons that had filled her with happiness; the first one had been spent at Montmorency Fall Parks, where she stood with head tilted up and body leaning slightly over the railing to catch drops on her face. There had been an afternoon where she had gotten a very elaborate tour through the Quebec of Owen's childhood. One night Alex had forced her into a slumber party of sorts and she had been snugly wrapped between her and Jaden, and it had been blissful and innocent and amazing. There had been a barbecue outside that had stretched for so long it had gotten dark before they'd gotten away from the table.

Generally, she couldn't say she hated these people. And then she did. Because she saw the way they frowned upon the people that worked for them, how even though Amanda exuded an aura of awesomeness she would never be more than their cook, and how nothing ever seemed quite enough.

She had fallen into step with them seemingly seamless, but occasionally she fell out of rhythm and she was never really sure if she should bother trying to match up again.

It was because she genuinely loved Owen that it was a heartbreaking conflict time and again.

The insomnia was not something she could deal well with though, and after so many hours of staring at the ceiling she decided she did no good staying in bed. Around three am on her fifth night, she peeled out of bed and left the room in utter silence.

She hadn't expected anyone else to be up, though it wouldn't have been an extremely rare thing. Alex and her friends were teenagers, very fond of partying and never eager to go to sleep early when there was the option to _not_.

However, it wasn't one of them sitting atop the kitchen counter slurping soggy honey loops into his mouth.

Nikita grinned . "Good night or good morning? I can't really tell."

He patted the space next to him and she easily hoisted herself onto the cool surface. Only after he'd swallowed another mouthful of cereal did he finally speak. "Make an educated guess."

Tapping her finger against her chin, she replied, "I'm pretty sure the cereal is supposed to throw me off. You look like you've got non-conformism down to a skill. Good evening."

His eyes lit up and he pointed his spoon at her. "You're a smart one. It's a nice change."

"Don't let Alex hear you. She'll hit you with a dictionary."

"That short sack can't even reach me."

She huffed. "What's that supposed to mean? Alex and I are the same height."

Michael stalled eating the last bit of his cereal to smirk at her. "Wasn't trying to offend you. Want some cereal?"

"Sure. Doesn't forgive you though!"

Michael hopped off the counter top, retrieving a bowl from the cupboard and then stalling out several boxes. _Figures_, she thought. _They don't even have just _one _brand of cereal._

She pointed at the cocoa puffs. "Those."

"Damn." He sighed. "I pegged you for a cheerios kind of girl."

* * *

When she woke up, she was snuggled around her pillow. Blinking slowly, she tried to recall any memory of having gone back to her room after their conversation over cereal, but came up with nothing. Had she fallen asleep in the kitchen?

The mere thought of Michael carrying her to her room was endearing.

Rubbing the sleep out of her eyes, she began assessing the situation. Not only had she slept well into the afternoon, she had also missed Owen completely—he wasn't in the room, and his pajamas lay on a heap on the floor, indicating he wasn't going to be back to get dressed either.

That gave her the option to take an extra-long shower, if not a bath. However, she knew she shouldn't. She had wasted enough time as was, and she had wanted to get a few errands done before Sunday came along and the entire family came down for a visit.

So she yawned into her palm as she shuffled through the room, the fuzzy carpet tickling the soles of her feet. The bathroom was too bright on her eyes, light glinting off the marble sink. She showered rather quickly and was out of her room not even half an hour after she had woken up, hair still damp but sunglasses nestled on her nose and already busy texting.

It was Michael that was the 'lucky' recipient of her uncaffeinated mind. 'I know how you can make it up to me.'

The reply came ten seconds later. 'Tell me.'

Nikita grinned, and only partly because the reply had been too fast for Michael not to have been holding his phone already—why though?

'I could use a ride to town.'

'Gotcha. I'll meet you at the garage in five.'

Nikita had a quick stop in the lounge to kiss Owen and wave the others goodbye before she headed out to the garage. It was tall and long, housing more than a few cars—she had never been really into cars, but there were some beauties among them.

Michael leaned against a small convertible with the brightest red color she had ever seen. It was the brown bag he was holding that pulled her attention more than anything else though.

"You brought me breakfast? Oh Mikey, you do know how to treat a lady."

He grinned. "What can I say, maybe I'm not a lost case?"

She flopped into the passenger's side, the paper crumpling in her hand as she began munching on a peanut butter and fluff sandwich, a sandwich that had the crusts cut off. It was a simple breakfast, one she'd enjoyed a lot as a child, and one she retorted back to on 36 hour shifts at the hospital.

"I still think you might be, sorry. No coffee, that's less brownie points."

They pulled out of the garage and onto the road. It was a beautiful day, with the sun shining bright above a wealthy assortment of nature. Nikita closed her eyes to enjoy the warmth on her face.

There was something liberating about being away from the mansion. It had been incredibly difficult to be there, with the constant raging emotions within her—do I succumb to their lifestyle, do I stand strong with what I believe in?

Now she was in complete freedom though, with someone that seemed to understand maybe even more than she did. Someone that had grown up with the wealth but for some reason had chosen not to stay.

Nikita was curious for the story behind it, but knew better than to try coax something out of someone not at all willing to share.

* * *

Thirty minutes into their walk across town they finally found a place that, at least according to Michael, sold decent coffee. Seated outside on the terrace in comfortable arm chairs, Nikita sipped from her first cup of coffee of the day.

Michael seemed equally eager to pump caffeine into his system, which made her feel a little better about how she hadn't shut up about getting some ever since they had arrived.

"We've got the souvenirs you wanted, put the post cards in the mail even though you'll be back before those even reach Vancouver, and you have a present for Owen's parents... what else did you need to do today?" Michael popped the lid off his cup, pouring an extra sachet of sugar into his drink.

Nikita rest her head on top of her elbow, fingers rubbing over her temple. "Let me think. I'm sure I'm forgetting something."

A few moments passed in silence while she racked her brain. She had cheesy coffee mugs for her friends at work, gotten a box of chocolates for Owen's pare—why did Michael refer to them as _Owen_'s parents?

Her eyebrows crinkled with the frown that felt heavy after so much smiling she had been doing in his presence.

Again, though, it felt like it wasn't the right time to press the issue. If it would ever even come to that.

"Well, I've not gotten you something to remember me by," she finally lamented, surfacing from her thoughts. "Can't have you forgetting on me when I'm gone."

Michael, for the first time as far as she could remember, _smiled_. Not a smirk or grin when their conversation took a turn to banter, playful and so much fun, but a genuine smile.

(It made him look absolutely beautiful.)

"Couldn't forget you even if I tried."


End file.
